


la petite mort

by mooselady



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Asphyxiation, Choking, F/M, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4948684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooselady/pseuds/mooselady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <a href="https://magpielady.tumblr.com/">magpielady.tumblr.com</a>
</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [magpielady.tumblr.com](https://magpielady.tumblr.com/)

This is what they don’t tell you about Autumn: something besides the trees will die.

It could be a first love, or a friendship. Maybe a hobby or a dream or a favorite song loses its brightness.

It could be you. The world is dying, but the process is so beautiful that we scarcely believe it will ever come to an end.

Knowing her favorite season lasted for only a brief time, Ava felt like something was going to happen, something permanent. She had been watching the tree outside her bedroom window. A tall, tired oak, the tree had been there for her entire life, but this year she was noticing its presence with an obsession she couldn’t shake. It was growing so tall that it loomed over the house, a shadow in the evening, blocking the sun’s light to her window. Its limbs scratched and tapped at night, as if it had been waiting until she was tucked safely in bed to torment her with its ghostly assault. Did anyone else take notice of how quickly the leaves were falling, she wondered. Did anyone notice how hideously bare this oak would be once its leaves were gone, how exposed it would be to the world? How autumn would relent into winter, like it did every year, but this time was different. Yes, she was sure of this. She didn’t feel older when she turned sixteen in May, at the turn of summer. She felt older now, in the chilly mornings; in the yellowing earth and softening blue skies.

The letters always arrived on time, on a Friday, tucked safely in the mailbox for when she came home from school. They were addressed in stiff, formal writing on the envelope, sweetly inked with “To Miss Ava Ire”, which of course she found laughable in its mocking elegance, but nonetheless endearing as she could practically hear it in his voice. Miss Ava Ire.

It seemed appropriate. She was feeling older, anyways, for having made it to her sixteenth autumn.

The most recent letter was read as she paced the hallway of her home, unraveling the scarf from her neck and swinging it idly with her free hand. The soles of her shoes acted as a metronome as his words were read.

> _College is a nightmare. Sometimes it’s hard to breathe. The work gets overwhelming, or I start thinking about packing up and leaving again. I think about taking up smoking again, but I’ve gone this long without a cigarette, and I know you don’t like the tar, or the smell, or how bad it is for me and everyone around me._
> 
> _I’m coming home next week for fall break. I miss you. I’ll see you soon._

Ava read this over and over until the words pooled into one word.

Home.

She started wearing chapstick again. She started brushing her hair again. She started to at least try to make it seem like she had some handle on her life, or at least her appearance, for when he came home.

The following Friday, she was glad to see Odin Arrow at her doorstep. He grinned at her, despite being caught in the passing rain-shower, his hair stuck to his wet forehead. He shook against the cold as she let him in.

They spent their time talking in her bedroom, telling their accounts of school, reminiscing their time together at the high school. He seemed more tired, she thought. Not so much as quiet, but more prone to dozing off. Only after ten minutes, he laid down on her bed, closing his eyes, the tiny purple veins of his eyelids exposed.

At this hour, somewhere between three and four, there was no rush or plans or urgency. The air was tired and still, and her room was warmer than the grey rainy chill outside, so together they laid on her bed, side by side.

“Wh-What have you been up to?” he asked.

“Same as you, I guess. School and chores,” she answered. Her eyes drifted to the laundry basket overflowing in the corner of her room. A stained shirt was draped over a forgotten stack of textbooks.

“School and chores,” she repeated quieter, more bleak and exhausted than anything. Odin stretched, sprawling across her bed, relishing in its familiar scent and soft blankets.

“We should tr-trade beds,” he murmured, rubbing his face into her pillow. It was her shampoo, or maybe her perfume he believed. Vanilla and pumpkin, and something nostalgic that he couldn’t express in words, only memories of autumn leaves changing color.

“Ha, yeah,” Ava said, raising her arms over her head and cracking her toes. “You barely fit this bed though.” She slapped lightly at his chest, then pointed at his feet. “See, your feet are dangling off the end.”

Odin didn’t seem to mind. He pulled himself up until the crown of his head was pressed against the wall.

“F-Fixed it,” he said with a smirk.

Ava rolled onto her stomach, crossing her arms over her pillow and resting her chin atop her hands. She had a stack of essays to start, but no motivation. There was the mess on the floor that had to be carefully stepped over, but again, no motivation to clean. She had hoped the new school year would give her a chance to stay busy, since idleness caused the bad feelings to stir, but on rainy afternoons such as this one it seemed impossible to complete any task. It would be good, truly, if she could sleep through this day, and the next week, and possibly even the next year. There were better adventures to be had in her dreams, anyway. She stifled a laugh, mumbling into the pillow,

“Odin, we should get you a dog bed.”

The older boy opened one eye, then spoke, “I hate th-that you might be serious.”

“Listen, it’ll be so great,” she continued, content with how forcibly bored she could make herself sound. “We can get you a leash, and a collar. You can be, I don’t know, my guard dog or something.”

The girl felt his breathy laugh rock the bed as his voice cracked, “You s-sound like you’ve been p-planning this Firefly. Especially the c-collar part.” He rolled unto his side to face her, leaning in close as he whispered, “I didn’t know you w-were into that sort of stuff.”

Ava scoffed, shoving at his shoulder with a click of her tongue.

“Quit being gross. I mean it as, sometimes I have this dream, where you follow me, and when I tell you to heel, you heel. So, you’re my dog, not my-”

She halted, blinking at the ceiling and feeling the heat rush to her face.

“Y-Your dog? Ava, where is th-this coming from?” he spoke up.

“Wait, I don’t mean! No, I-” Ava covered her face, turning to face the wall.

“No, no.” She slipped out of his reaching hands. “It’s nothing. It’s a stupid dream I have sometimes. Ignore it. I just messed up my words.”

With that, she stayed still, staring with two wide eyes into the wall. She heard Odin sigh, then turn over as well, so their spines mirrored each other, pressed close enough that they could feel the bones align. After a few minutes of silence, she wriggled her body, peeking over her shoulder, but the older teenager did not stir. Reluctantly, Ava laid her head to rest. There was a quiet place inside her, beyond the chaos of her mind. She just had to find it-

She held her breath when Odin shifted, rolling over and pressing his chest against her back, lazily wrapping an arm around her until his hand lay sprawled in front of her face.

“Are you asleep?” she asked.

He made a noise from the back of his throat, eyes closed, unable to find the energy to speak.

Ava pulled at his hand, pinching the skin and then watching as it turned white. It was the same hand that held her’s under the cafeteria table, the same hand that would run through her hair or over shoulders. The same tiny scars and blisters. The same dirt underneath his nails. The skin was picked at the corners, leaving them sore and dry.

She stared, focusing on the lines and contours of his hand before absently bringing his finger to her mouth and biting it.

Odin made another muffled, unconcerned noise from behind her, although it was questioning.

Ava traced her closed lips over his hand before mumbling, “I dunno.” Then more urgently, “I don’t know!”

She groaned, slapping her face with his own hand, then flopping it carelessly back to the bed but refusing to release her grip on his wrist.

“Wh-What’s wrong?” he asked, shifting closer. 

“I’ve been thinking, and it’s been bugging me,” she began. She bit the inside of her cheek, then said, “We should get it over with. Let’s just do it.”

“Overthrow our sh-shitty government?” 

Ava grinned, but continued, trying her best to sound exasperated with this troubling urgency.

“No, I’m talking about sex.”

She expected him to sit up, to bombard her with questions, but he only lay there, still and silent as could be. Her face reddened at how childish the outburst seemed in retrospect. What was the rush? He’d never brought it up even if they had teased each other for months about it. It was becoming an inside joke of sorts, but now she wanted to know if there was any real truth to it.

“You w-want to?” he asked quietly.

Ava turned to face him. At the sight of his familiar sleepy eyes, the words seemed to pour forth like myrrh.

“Everyone talks about it and I feel like I’m missing out on something, and you’re away at college and I feel like a stupid kid for asking but I don’t want to _not_  know, and I don’t want to ask anyone else. I, I don’t want to do it with anyone else.”

She realized how tense she had been when Odin simply nodded, looking into the bedsheets carefully before meeting her gaze and asking, “But you want t-to do this?”

He waved at the air, cutting with his words, “F-Forget school and your classmates. Is this wh-what you want?”

She nodded.

“Other people scare me,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure where this was coming from, or when she had realized this. “But not you. You don’t scare me.”

They pulled each other closer, and she soundly decided, “I know you won’t hurt me.”

“Do you r-remember,” he began, scratching his nails down her back, “when I kissed you for the f-first time? And I said I was gonna th-throw up?” 

Ava scrunched her nose, snickering, “I kept apologizing over and over, because I thought I had made you sick.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I didn’t know you were that nervous. You’re so good at hiding it.”

He nodded, dropping his line of sight. She leaned forward, lifting her head to kiss the purple veined skin of his tired eyes when he moved forward, meeting her lips and kissing her softly.

The rain outside stirred, beads of water coursing down the windowpane as the kisses came faster, the bed creaking as the boy shifted his weight on top of her. She felt his breath over her neck, stopping as he looked at her with half-lidded eyes.

It was in this hour that she realized this was different than the last time they had touched, but not how she envisioned it. It felt too oddly peculiar, the mark he was leaving on her neck, her hands entangled in his hair.

She was thinking of that tree, that goddamn, heinous oak. In the rainshower’s wind its branches tapped against the window. She scowled at the ceiling, rolling her eyes.

It wasn’t Odin. It was the tree. In a flare of anger, she damned the tree, reaching her hands beneath his shirt and raking her nails down his back, nearly breaking the skin.

He drew back, blinking and gasping.

“Are y-you okay?”

Ava stammered, “Y-Yeah? Yes. I’m fine. Why?”

Odin swallowed, replying, “You l-look pissed.”

She swatted at the air, “No, sorry. I’m just thinking of something that makes me mad. It’s not you.”

She settled back comfortably into the mattress.

“I’m fine.”

The girl brought the crook of her elbow around his neck, kissing him. She smiled at the scratch of his beard, at the scent of his home. Decidedly, she ignored the tree’s awful persistence, it’s claws scratching at her bedroom window, pleading for her attention.

She wrapped her legs tighter around his hips, the incredibly loud drum of her heart matching his ragged breathing. He held unto her jaw gently, opening her mouth and sliding his tongue over her’s, the shakiness of their nerves doubling when a moan, peculiar to her and involuntary to him, passed from his mouth to her’s.

Odin traced his hands down the curve of her waist, halting at her hips before breaking apart and smiling when her hand grazed over his scar, feeling its smoothness, back and forth like water.

Ava couldn’t stop the nervous flutter of her heart, nor the tremor to her body when without a word, Odin rolled his back to the bed so she was straddling him from above.

He ran his hands over her thighs while saying, “I’ve thought of you l-like this before.”

Ava returned his smile, pulling her hair behind her ear when he added, more jittery than before, “It w-was d-different though.”

She hovered, placing two small hands on either side of his head.

“Like how?” she questioned.

Odin gulped, eyeing the ceiling. He couldn’t look at her when he answered.

“You were ch-choking me.”

He shifted under her weight, his feet digging into the mattress when the girl lowered herself closer, speaking quietly, “Is that…something you like?”

She regretted the strange uncertainty in her voice when he rolled his eyes, fickle indigo in his short and quick answer, “No.”

“Ava,” he continued, and the nervousness wouldn’t shake him, not this time. “There are th-things I don’t t-t-tell you. There are things I don’t r-really understand, b-bad things inside of m-me…”

He realized how tightly he had been holding her hips when she rested her head on his shoulder, listening, watching.

“I don’t want to s-scare you. I think bad th-things sometimes. Sometimes they involve y-you.”

“Tell me,” she simply responded, her red hair falling over her shoulder, exposing her neck and the hickey he had left there just minutes ago. He forced down the nerves, trying to stay anchored to the warm ambers and browns of her eyes, colors that always seemed to be on the verge of autumn. 

He had started talking about the dark parts, and now he feared he couldn’t shut up.

“I th-think…I think…” he took a deep breath, “I think about you k-killing me.”

Ava remained still. He could feel her eyelashes brush against his neck as she blinked.

“Oh god,” he groaned, covering his eyes with his hands, muttering a curse to himself. “That s-sounds so fucked up out l-loud. But I can’t st-stop it. I think about it, and it m-makes me feel calm. I think about it, especially wh-when I’m-”

He halted to look at her, going pale at her confusion.

“I’m…going t-to stop talking.”

Ava watched as he closed his eyes, relenting in the kiss she placed on his cheek.

“I think about stuff too,” she admitted, sitting up so her weight was slumped over his crotch. He stifled a gasp, nodding as he breathed, “L-Like what?”

The girl opened her mouth to answer, but fell short, rubbing at the blush burning over her face.

“You don’t h-have to tell me,” he assured her. 

“But I want to!” she shot back. “You told me your secret, so-”

“There’s m-more to it,” Odin stated. He peered off to the side. “Tell me your’s, and I’ll t-tell you the rest.”

Ava nodded, drawing in a deep breath before she said, “It’s not much. Sometimes in the middle of class I think about us-” she waved between herself and him, “-doing things, but it gets out of control. We’re usually so nice and gentle with each other but sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if you hit me.”

She expected him to take a moment to ponder this.

“Wh-Why?”

Ava shrugged, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“I don’t mean too hard. I just wonder what it’d be like. If anyone else did it, I would get so mad I’d probably murder them. But if I asked you to, I don’t know. I might be okay with it.”

She huffed, “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

“I think about d-dying alot,” he whispered so quietly that Ava had to lean in to listen.

He sank further into the mattress, closing his eyes. “It f-follows me everywhere. I’m obsessed w-with it. I can’t go a s-single day without thinking about d-death.”

“How bad does it get?” she asked.

He eyed her, answering, “P-Pretty bad. It’s gotten w-worse since I left home. But when I walk by a graveyard, I f-feel calm, like I belong.”

“You never talked about this in your letters,” Ava stated.

Odin ran his fingers through the ends of her hair, speaking softly and truthfully.

“Because I didn’t w-want to scare y-you.”

There were questions hanging in the air on a very, very thin string. It would be a pleasure to finally cut them free, she admonished. It would be a delight to cut down that cursed tree outside her bedroom and burn the wood, every splinter and fungus until nothing but grey ash remained.

She loved him, so it made sense to the girl to hesitantly snake her hands to his neck, slowly and lightly curling her fingers around his esophagus.

It was only suppose to be for a second, just to see what her hands around his neck would feel like, nothing more.

Something had to give, anyways.

Ava sucked in a loud, sharp breath when she squeezed tighter, feeling the pricks of his beard dig roughly into her palms, his own breath passing shakily from the pressure.

She didn’t know what she was doing, but she couldn’t stop. All of a sudden, a real, living person had entrusted her with his life, and all she could think about was wringing his neck even harder.

The confusion made her tighten her hold, so much that he jerked, closing his eyes and wrapping his own hands around the wrists of Miss Ava Ire.

With each laborious intake of breath she held on, digging her thumbs into his jugular, finally getting him to squirm underneath her.

She pressed further, bringing herself to her knees and using her weight against him, choking him harder until the evil tap tap tap of the oak made her realize what she wanted to scream, what she had planned to keep secret from him and herself.

“Tell me you’re my fucking dog.”

It echoed. She slammed his head against the mattress, not sure if she wanted to kiss him, or devour him, or strangle him until the whites of his eyes turned.

He choked, grasping desperately at her thighs but forcing himself to stay beneath her. Ava yelled bitterly, clipped and precise, “Say it! I want to hear you say it!” Her voice cracked when his head lolled to the side, listening to her shouts. “Say, ‘ _I’m your dog_!’”

He rolled his eyes as the world grew blurry, bringing his knees forward and sliding them back down slowly, riding out the movement of her body against his. He muffled a small noise, floating off on the high but was brought back to reality by her shouts.

“Okay!” he panted. “Okay, I’m y-your dog.”

His voice was weak, lost in the one-sided struggle to breathe as Ava pinned him down, her elbows digging into his chest, watching his face flicker from calm to panic in a matter of milliseconds. He was turning a dangerous shade of purple when she hissed, “That is pathetic.”

She dug her hips into him, relentless as he scrambled at the front of her shirt, tugging and pulling, fighting for breath. A string of drool flowed from the corner of his mouth unto her hand, but she ignored it. His pulse throbbed painfully in her grip and before she could kiss him, he cried, “I’m your dog!”

The plea spilled forth, the stickiness of his spit smeared over his face.

“I’m your b-bitch, okay, I’m your f-f-fucking dog, Ava.”

With that, she let go.

He coughed, immediately lurching to the side as if he were going to vomit. His lungs demanded the much needed oxygen, breath after labored breath being brought fitfully into his body.

He rolled unto his back to face her, hovering his hands in front of his chest, his body trembling as he watched her.

Ava didn’t realize how hard she had been breathing either until she matched him, using the back of her hand to wipe at her bleary eyes. She thought she was going to be sick when it hit her.

“I didn’t,” she breathed, her bottom lip quivering and face scrunching. “I didn’t mean to.”

It wasn’t a convincing lie, and she knew Odin Arrow would see right through it in a heartbeat.

Odin shook his head, closing his eyes and padding his fingers along his throat. He said nothing as she moved off of him, biting her nail, holding in on herself.

“F-Fuck.”

He ran his hand down his face.

The bed creaked under their combined weight as Ava knelt beside him.

“I c-came in my jeans.”

Ava stiffened, blinking with wide eyes. She glanced quickly at the wet spot at his crotch, then looked away as he spoke once more, “Like a complete l-loser.”

They looked tattered, as if they had just been dispatched from the remnants of a fight.

Ava spoke softly, “You liked it, didn’t you.”

He didn’t answer, and she hid her face in her hands.

Odin wanted to disappear completely, forever, or at least turn back time and never let his thoughts be known. Then again, he feared, it would have only drove him crazier if he didn’t say them out loud.

“We can’t tell anyone this,” Ava said. “Promise me we won’t tell anyone.”

He nodded his agreement.

“I s-swear.”

“Go take a shower,” she told him. “Before my parents get home.”

Odin moved his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up with a loud pop of his back.

Ava couldn’t look away from the contusion already forming on his neck. She hated how beautiful it was. She hated how appealing its dark purple was, how weak it made him look.

He stood and walked to the door awkwardly, turning the knob and saying before he stepped into the hall,

“I’m glad it was y-you.”

He left. Alone with her thoughts, alone with the now burning memory, alone with the dried spit and tears on her hand, Ava thought how lovely a little death it must have been, how foolish children they were for playing this game.

It was impossible to abstain from it when the reward was so sickly sweet.


	2. lex talionis

It is a little realized fact that as we grow older, Sundays become bleaker, more headache-inducing, more prone to lounging atop your grandmother’s quilted bed, staring at the window’s sky. We are more filled with melancholy on Sundays. We shed white light, in all its unbearable, blinding confusion.

Cold, white light and an unnameable heartache consumes Sundays. This is how it is. This is how it’s always been. It starts when we are children, in our scratchy, itchy Sunday church dresses, then it slows to a very cold, very unsurpassable grievance as teenagers.

Perhaps it’s because at quick glance, our eyes could easily confuse the word Sunday with Suicide.

That wasn’t the case this Autumn day. At a quarter past one o’ clock, she received a phone call asking if she wanted to meet his friends.

Odin laughed at the word “friends.” There was some catch to his invitation, but Ava had an easy way about her today, so she agreed, listening to him through the phone, tracing her hand over the acne lining her jaw. She hadn’t felt this light and at ease in weeks. Perhaps it was the autumn air, or the smell of crisp leaves, or even the full night’s rest she had just hours before his call.

She was grateful, at least, that she had dreamed of stalking the forests surrounding the back-roads of this town, her hands trailing over soft flowers and rabbit feet, and not of her encounter with Odin on Friday. Even if it had been sworn into secrecy and locked in the past, she could still remember traces of the memory. She remembered his eyes closing shut, the peaceful look on his face as she choked the air from his lungs. It made her skin crawl, in a way that the ice started in her fingertips, then slithered down her arms, halting at her heart with a painful jolt.

She had strangled him, and he had thanked her for it.

Since then, Ava had resisted the urge to call him and challenge him for it, to demand _what_ he was thinking in letting her push those limits. But at night, when the house was quiet and she was alone with nothing but the ring in her ears and the thoughts in her mind, the girl diluted the memory to a pinpoint, into one simple line: A dog never bites the hand that feeds it.

Ava crumbled the pillow over her face, breathing laboriously, tensing then letting go. It’s over, she repeated. It’s over. You don’t have to do it again.

Was it wrong that if given the right moment, she wouldn’t hesitate to hear him pant the words again. 

I am your dog. 

I am your’s. 

At thirty minutes past one, Odin picked her up from her house. He was leaving tomorrow morning. She stated this matter-of-factly.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said, shutting the door of his truck as he shifted the gear into drive. “Are you ready to go just yet?”

He tilted his head, shrugging.

“Not r-really,” the older boy answered. “I hate leaving m-my sisters.”

Looking over, he added, “And you.”

“Even if you all dr-drive me crazy,” he mumbled, glancing out the side window, smirking mischievously. 

Ava matched his smirk, appreciating their shared ease, feeling their forgiving sunshine through the glass of his rickety truck. She pulled her knees to her chest, pressing her heels into the seat. Even if it looked stupid, which maybe for once it wouldn’t feel nonsensical, Ava let her hand hang out the window, feeling the wind slice across it. She smiled as she watched it duck and dive, feeling that wonderful changing air glide over her skin.

At a red light she asked, “So who are these friends we’re seeing?” She mockingly glared at his aloof smile. “From the sound of it, we’re gonna be seeing a family of ghosts or something.”

The light turned green, and as Odin pressed the gas, his smile dropped, his laugh suddenly going tense.

“No,” he told her. “It’s b-better than a ghost.”

They were quiet after that. Drives like this reminded them of when they were in high school together; the hot, sweltering May afternoons when he would drive her home, or the cold rainy mornings when they would stay hidden behind the gymnasium, sharing a smoke beside the dumpster.

Well, more like Ava keeping watch while Odin smoked beside the dumpster. She couldn’t find the taste for it, even if she tried to act mature and grown-up in taking a drag of its sickly black tar.

The redhead learned if he missed that smoke break, he would shut down, dramatically slamming his head down on the desk, his knee bobbing up and down anxiously. She didn’t say anything when he lifted his head from his desk, only to reveal the wet spots staining his worksheet, the same wetness in his nervous eyes as he quickly rubbed the frustration away, glaring at anyone who stared. The pain just never really went away. The tears would spread from his eyes, to the paper, back to his eyes, then to his hand, to the sleeve of his jacket, smearing it among the prickly halfhearted attempt at a beard growing on his face.

Ava did the same, but she’d escape into the girl’s bathroom first. She could feel it bubbling to the surface, and at the moment when she thought she would combust, the girl forced her jacket against her face, screaming one long, primal wail into the fabric. Then the sobs would start, racking through her one after the other until finally, finally, she could pull the jacket from her face silently.

You have to be careful where you choose to cry in school, she realized. It can’t be in class, and if it does happen in class, it has to be quiet, unseen, and quickly pushed off to the side. No one liked dealing with someone who couldn’t control their crying during school. That was the unofficial rule, among so many others that Ava told Odin would make a terrific 2nd rendition of the Code of Hammurabi.

“An eye f-for an eye, a tooth for a tooth still applies,” Odin whispered. “No m-matter where you go in this world.”

When they reached the community park on that Autumn afternoon, Ava spoke aloud as she tied her hair into a ponytail.

“Odin, do you remember when I said ‘No Crying In School’ was the first rule of the Second Code of Hammurabi?”

He pulled the key from the ignition, nodding.

“You said an eye for an eye will always apply no matter where you go. I think about that alot.”

He nodded again, stepping out from the truck and meeting her on the other side as she opened the passenger door.

“But isn’t that the most primitive sort of justice?” she asked, stepping down. She stumbled, causing her to reach out and grab his shirt sleeve, her own laughter mingling with his. 

“Um, yes. Y-Yes. It kinda just-” he paused, scratching at his beard and looking to the blue sky as they began walking from the parking lot. “It believes in c-c-co-” He sighed. “ _Compensation_. If you hurt me, I’ll h-hurt you. That’s wh-what I think it’s going for.”

“I don’t get the whole revenge thing,” she said, making sure to step on the fallen leaves, listening to their crunch beneath her foot. “I mean, I _get_ it, but what’s the point? It just makes a mess of things. I’d rather just-” she smiled up at him, gliding her hand in front of her, “-roll with the worst of it.”

Odin returned her smile, then shrugged.

“I don’t think it’s about r-revenge. It’s about f-fair treatment.”

He turned, walking backwards to face her.

“If I gouged y-your eye out, you’d be pissed, r-right?”

Ava rolled her eyes, huffing, “ _Yes_ , I’d be pissed.”

“It’s not very f-fair that I get two good eyes while you only have one, b-because of me,” he continued. “I take your eye, you t-take mine.” He snapped his fingers with the revelation. “J-Justice.”

“That’s completely barbaric,” she laughed, darting from him and onto the empty playground, jumping up and grasping at the monkey bars. She failed, missing the bar, unable to reach it.

“Maybe,” he admitted, wiping away the smirk on his face as he watched her struggle. “I th-think it’s fair, is all.”

Odin grasped at her waist from behind, lifting her up until she could curl her hands around the bar. She kicked out, swinging with the momentum, causing him to back away. Hands shoved in his pockets, he walked the imaginary line, eyeing the girl from time to time as he circled her.

She was so pretty, and she didn’t even know it. A little sun who can’t even see her own light.

Ava swung from bar to bar, calling out, “Where’s your nerd friends Odin?” She blew a stray hair from her face, her ponytail already coming undone. “ _If_ they even exist.”

Odin stopped at the end of the monkey bars, stepping onto the end rail to meet her face to face. “I dunno.” When she was right at his face he leaned in, kissing her briskly on the mouth before saying, “They’re a f-finicky group.”

Ava released her hold, dropping to the ground.

“Ghosts are finicky,” she said.

Odin sighed, shaking his head, black eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, “It’s n-not a ghost. I swear.”

Ava trailed off, kicking at a stone, bringing her fingertips to her mouth and letting them feel where his lips touched her’s. She was absently trailing her fingers over her lips, back and forth, when a sharp caw filled the empty silence. Ava glanced up at the treetops, then at the power lines. When she turned around, she saw Odin bending down on one knee, surrounded by crows.

“These are your friends?” she scoffed in disbelief. She drew closer, watching the black birds hop and flap their wings around him. The boy just let his finger splay in front of him, letting the birds eye it meticulously before making vain attempts at snatching his shoelaces. 

“Y-Yeah,” he answered, watching her squat down beside him, her small arm draped over his shoulders. “I knew they’d r-recognize me, even if it’s been w-weeks since I last saw them.”

“They’re so…” 

“Tame?” he interjected. A crow brushed its beak across his finger before gingerly nipping at it. 

“No, n-not tame, just…aware? They know I’m the guy th-that has food and doesn’t throw r-rocks at them.”

Ava rested her head on his shoulder, drawing in a deep breath, filling her lungs with Autumn. The sunshine caused their black feathers to become iridescent, seemingly enchanted in their own mysterious way as another curious crow pecked at the hem of his jeans, pulling and tugging to get his attention.

“Sorry guys,” he chuckled. “I don’t have f-food this time.”

“How many are there?” Ava asked.

“L-Last time I checked, seven,” he answered. He moved his finger in a circle before tapping the most pushy crow on the head. It eyed the teenager, then focused its attention on Ava, pecking at the ground then lifting its head to focus on her. 

“It’s watching me,” she commented quietly.

“Y-Yeah,” Odin chimed. “She’s just getting a good l-look at you. They remember faces, b-both good and bad.”

“Really?” Ava pressed her nose briefly against his jacket, inhaling that smell she missed so much. It was that scent she fell asleep to, whether in the dark empty auditorium at the high school, or on the floor of her bedroom, listening to the lyrics of those songs that brought her back to something older than the pair of them combined.

Like anything, the memory of his scent faded with time.

Odin nodded. “They even t-teach their babies who the ‘good’ humans are, and who th-the ‘bad’ humans are.”

The crows began losing interest, spreading about the grass in search of food, or taking the time to preen their closer half’s feathers.

“They can tell who’s good or bad?” Ava whispered.

“What?” he laughed, “N-No. I mean which humans have h-hurt them in the p-past. They actually attack people who have hurt th-them, or their family.”

“Oh.” Ava lifted herself up, stretching her legs. “So an eye for an eye?”

He stood as well, saying, “Yeah. Exactly.” His eyes drifted to the side, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he turned.

Ava followed, realizing he was walking back to the truck. She looked to the sky, and wanted to speak out and ask if they could stay longer, when she turned on her heel, studying the crows before asking aloud, “You said there was seven?”

She pointed at the flock when he turned too, stopping in his tracks.

“There’s only five.”

Odin squinted, bringing his hand from his pocket to idly scratch at his beard.

“I don’t kn-know,” he mumbled. “I don’t know. They’re usually altogether.”

He continued walking, and Ava reluctantly spun on her heel, intending to turn full circle when her line of sight landed on the old graveyard beside this park. She had seen it multiple times just through passing, always from the window of a moving car, but this time she could see the headstones in all of their mismatched rows.

“Hey,” she grinned. “You said we wouldn’t see any ghosts.”

She paraded proudly away, hoping to coax him in following her as she stepped towards the grassy embankment.

“Ava, we r-really shouldn’t,” he spoke.

She ignored him, speaking from her shoulder, “C’mon! You love graveyards. Let’s check this one out.”

Ava pranced into the overgrown grass, moving lightly as she opened the rustic gate, letting it swing shut behind her with a loudness that made her halt, jumping in her tracks.

She heard Odin walking behind her, so she continued, letting her hand trace over the headstones, feeling the lichen and rubble and weathered granite.

“Ava, this is s-stupid, can we just go?”

The girl paused at one grave, reading over its date with dull interest. She smiled at the tall purple wildflowers jutting up from the ground.

“I think these are coneflowers,” she commented, stepping deeper into the grass. 

Odin followed with a sigh, blurting out, “I w-want to leave.”

“I imagine so,” she simply stated, crossing her arms, weaving slowly in and out of graves. “You always get like this when you need to smoke.”

He tensed, then responded, “Y-Y-Yeah, I know that. I get weird wh-when I need a cigarette, but I stopped, remember.”

The teenager shook out his hands.

“It’s not about c-cigarettes this time,” he murmured above a whisper.

He motioned at the graveyard’s gate.

“C-Can we go?”

Ava halted at a grave, then realized how pale his face was when she looked up. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and that ghost was standing right behind her, reaching out to grab her.

She stood frozen as he shielded his eyes, taking careful steps towards her. He stood beside her at the grave, then hissed between clenched teeth, “I can’t stand this t-town any longer.”

Ava followed his downcast eyes to the grave, then read the inscription. She fell silent.

“I’m sorry. We can go,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Odin closed his eyes, facing his parents’ grave, their names chiseled indefinitely into the grey granite in bold, standard letters.

“I always avoid th-this spot,” he said, unable to move. “I come h-here for the crows, not for, f-for-” he gestured at the grave, “ _this_.”

Ava tried to persuade him to follow her away from this place, but could only watch as he stooped down on one knee, reaching out and tracing his hand over the dates of his parents’ death.

He halted at his father’s name, then brought his hand into a fist, pulling away.

“You know, he t-tried the best he could. It w-wasn’t always good, but it wasn’t always b-bad either.”

Ava listened, bringing her tiny hands to her chest. This sunlight’s perfect warmth settled comfortably over them both, and because of its loving embrace, Odin was persuaded to continue.

“S-Sometimes, he’d hit me, and I tried so hard n-n-not to c-cry. And-And I wanted him to feel _exactly_ wh-what I felt. I wanted him t-to pay for what he’d done. For hurting me.”

He covered his face with his hands, unable to stop the shakiness of his wrists.

“But not like th-this. N-Never like this.”

Ava watched as he moved his palm across his eyes, blinking forcefully.

“I didn’t w-want them to die,” his voice cracked, “just b-because my dad hit me.”

He spat, “So if eye f-for an eye is justice, then wh-what’s it called when one day y-your dad calls you a mistake, and th-then the next day the police show up to your fr-front door, t-telling you your parents are d-dead?”

Odin shielded his face, ducking his head to rest in the crook of his arm.

“ _Fuck_ the Code. I w-want my parents back.”

Ava bowed her head, closing her eyes and going to her knees beside him. They listened to the sharp cries of the crows, once a family of seven now torn to a family of five.

Yet, despite this, life continued. Autumn continued. The unspoken rule did not apply to the graveyard, where tears flowed freely. Ava learned this too. Some places seemed more appropriate for crying, but the pain lingers no matter where you go.

“It’s not your fault,” she told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

He exhaled, his breath being pushed through sorely, his mouth open and eyes heavy-lidded and red when he met her gaze.

Ava’s own voice struck a high chord when she spoke again. “I’m very, very happy you introduced me to your friends Odin.” She pressed her forehead against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“And I think you are very brave for coming here today,” she added, feeling his hand push her stray red hair over her ear. 

He sighed, then said, “You know, I think I s-secretly wanted to come t-to the graveyard. I was using the c-crows as an excuse.”

Ava felt a tear fall from him onto her cheek.

“But y-you realized that already, d-didn’t you.”

They sat, and listened, and together realized the world was spinning above and beneath them, and the sun disappearing behind the horizon was merely an illusion. Someone else needed that light. And for that, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, the justice was dealt for their fellow humans. They would survive another night of darkness just so another could have their sunrise.

Ava didn’t say anything when she stood and began picking purple coneflowers from the earth, but she did hum her own tune, something easy and gracious as she gathered the flowers in her hand. When she had a bundle, she set it carefully in front of the grave.

She did not know Odin Arrow’s parents, and she never would, at least not in this world.

It pained her more than she could possibly say to look at him, to really, really look at him, and realize _he_ was the ghost of two people deceased. It pained her to think he belonged here, in the graveyard, more than he did in the world of the living.

On the drive home she asked him if he needed a cigarette. He said yes, then nothing more. They passed several shops and gas stations, but he did not stop at one, not a single one.


	3. carpe noctem

In his bedroom, on the morning after his mistake, he told her she was taller than the last time he had seen her.

On Ava’s insistence, this simply wasn’t the case. She could not have gotten taller. She was done growing. She had been done growing.

It was only hours after his departure that she stood in front of the mirror, her hand above her head, leveling off her height in midair, that the girl realized she had in fact, grown. Her legs were still short, and her hands were still small, but perhaps Odin had noticed something she hadn’t. Her hair was longer. She placed two hands on her waist, tilting her head to look at herself in the mirror. Maybe her hips were different, more rounded and curved. She was different.

Maybe, just maybe, Autumn was her season of growth.

So it was the day before, in Odin Arrow’s bedroom, right at the cusp of nightfall, that he watched her. She was trying on his shirts. None of them fit, and some of the older band t-shirts stowed in the back of his closet were brought forth. She tried these on too, despite how badly they reeked of weed and smoke.

“What about this one?” she asked, scratching at the peeling logo of Blink 182.

Odin answered softly, “I l-like it.” He lifted his head off the bed to prop himself up. “It barely f-fits you though.”

Ava looked down, stretching the shirt in front of her, then looking into the mirror. It probably didn’t fit him either, from the looks of it. It might have even been Olai’s at one point. It began sliding off her shoulder, and instead of fixing her composure, she eyed him coyly.

“Let me try that one on.”

She pointed at the shirt he was wearing, to which he looked down at his chest. The teenager sat up, reaching behind him and pulling the shirt over his head before handing it to her.

He settled back onto the bed, lying on his side, watching as Ava peeled off the band t-shirt in trade of this one.

There was nothing spectacular about it. That was obvious in its plainness, in its solid black color and holes around the collar, the seams torn and frayed.

Ava pressed it closely to her face first, relishing in that boyish smell, of smoke and pine and patchouli and gasoline. She slipped it over her frame, then smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

“It fits,” she told him. 

She spun on her heel, a hand on either side of her waist, nearly rocking on the soles of her feet as she gleamed at him.

“I like this one. Can I borrow this one?”

Odin felt his grin before the warmth settled in his chest.

“Yes,” he answered.

Ava returned his smile, and was enamored by the way it hung loosely over her, how different it looked on her compared to him, and yet similar. The shirt was obscenely ordinary, but she wouldn’t identify how much she would grow to love this shirt until years later. It was only now, at this very moment, that the attachment was planted.

“I’m gonna take a bath now,” the girl told him. He nodded, already putting on the other shirt she had discarded, watching her as she trailed away. She didn’t shut his bedroom door.

The house was empty, save for the two of them. Olai didn’t tell him where he was going that night, although Odin expected he wouldn’t be home until tomorrow afternoon with a hangover. The twins were at a friend’s house, spending the night. Magpie had, surprisingly, made her own small knit of friends this school year, and thus had proudly declared she would be spending the night with them.

Odin knew he should be proud of her. Making friends was no easy feat, but something very, very sad crept into his chest when Magpie told him she would be gone for most of the weekend. He knew she had her own life. Staring at the stack of canvases underneath his desk, he thought back to the time his little sister had climbed on top of the chicken coop. She was too scared to get back down on her own, and he had to go up there to get her.

He never had to force himself to be kind to his sister. It came naturally. Coaxing her to finally come down came naturally. Carrying her on his back was the only natural, brotherly task to do, it seemed. Roughing through the scraps and cuts he got on the way down the coop was okay, if not painful. It was worth it, in the end.

Odin Arrow replayed this memory over and over until it turned into one single image of him carrying Magpie down. She had whispered only one thing, in fear that her very voice would cause him to slip and crash to the ground.

“Odin, please don’t let me fall.”

Now, she was off and on her own. She didn’t need her big brother to keep her from falling, he believed. His sister was getting too big for fairy tales and made up stories. When they were little, they would pretend to be part of their very own wolf pack. Thinking back, Odin was embarrassed to admit their childish antics, to snarling and yelping at each other, sometimes even perching at the windowsill to howl at a full moon.

The games eventually came to a halt. One day, a breath away from his thirteenth birthday, his father caught him smoking a cigarette. In the tether of shame and embarrassment at being found, Odin could not look his father in the eyes as he made the boy submerge every cigarette into a glass of water. He made him watch as the cigarettes dissolved. The water then bled into a disgusting tar-filled black, and then he made him drink the water. Odin gagged, and when he couldn’t take it anymore, he threw up in the kitchen sink. He swore he would never smoke another cigarette again. Of course, when his father was no longer around to make him drink tobacco water as punishment, then the fearful promise eventually lost its meaning, and Odin became a regular customer at the gas station. It was always the same: five dollars plus tax for a pack of reds.

Every now and then Odin would ask Magpie if she remembered the nights they would hide underneath his bed, pretending it was a safe den. She did.

The blurriness in his eyes wouldn’t go away, and the hot lump in his throat wouldn’t leave either, so he reached beside his bed, rummaging in his bag to pull out his pipe. It was incredibly laborious this time around, stuffing the pipe with the pot his roommate had given to him before fall break, urgently muttering his need to get rid of the drug.

What mistakes are made in the night, at the darkest most cold hour.

Odin rose from the bed, sauntering from the room into the bathroom. She must have truly known how alone they were tonight. She had left the door wide open, for all the house to breathe in the warm vanilla scent of the water.

He found her dozing off, her chin submerged in the water, her bottom lip stuck out in concentration. Her eyes were closed. Odin resisted the urge to sneak up on her, to wake her from her daydream with a kiss on the temple.

Instead, he walked to the window, unlatching its lock and opening it with one hand. The cool breeze that followed instantly cleared the fogged mirror, and with it, Ava sat upright. Upon seeing it was only him, she slid back down in the tub, closing her eyes.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked. A quick flash of embarrassment spread through her arms, across her shoulders to the pulse in her neck. She blamed it on the hot water. 

“Just s-smoking,” he answered with the pipe stuck between his teeth, already trying to get his lighter to cooperate. 

“Mhmm,” she hummed, opening one eye to glance at him. He stood at the window, patiently waiting for the green to smoke before taking one long drag. She closed her eyes again, but could hear him exhale into the Autumn’s night air. 

“Back in high s-school,” he began, studying the treeline of this familiar home, “-I’d come in here t-to smoke. I’d stuff a t-towel between the door’s crack, and I’d turn the sh-shower on. Then I’d stand here.” He moved from one foot to the other, resting an elbow on the windowsill. “And s-smoke.”

He inhaled another long, relaxed breath of the drug, leaning his head on the wall when he exhaled slowly. Ava watched this time. She watched the white smoke, watched it curl into the air, until it died in the darkness of the outside world. Then she watched his eyes stare at nothing.

It was impossible to ever know what he was thinking when he got like this.

“You’re lucky,” she said. She looked to the window. She looked to the North, and saw the beautiful pines lining the skyline as the sun grew colder and colder. “The trees here never die.”

Odin shrugged, still lost in thought.

“You don’t like the tr-trees at your house?” he asked.

Ava shook her head, setting the palms of her hand still on the water’s surface.

“No. The leaves fall from them during this time of year. It leaves them hideously bare. Seeing them exposed is awful.”

“B-But they’re beautiful,” he remarked. He took another drag from his pipe, closing his eyes wistfully. The chill would be too much tonight. It always curled and creaked into his bedroom while he slept. “The c-colors. They are so beautiful. C-Can’t you see?”

“Yes, but-” the girl furrowed her brow in concentration. “It happens so quickly. Then they die, and no one likes a leafless tree.”

She remarked fondly once more, “Your trees never die.”

Odin replied heavily, the weight of his words true and tired with the drug’s effects.

“One d-day they will. My family will be g-gone, and then someone else will t-take the forest. They will c-cut it down. Someday.”

Ava listened to him tap his pipe against the windowsill, depositing the smoldering substance outside. She could smell its sticky sweetness float in the air, mingling with the vanilla in the bath, and then heard him shuffle from foot to foot.

He was watching her.

This much she could sense without meeting his direct gaze.

“Yes?” she said aloud.

Odin leaned with all his weight against the wall. It appeared he would slump to the floor at the slightest touch. He snickered, “You’re flat as a b-board.”

Ava went rigid in the tub. Despite knowing he was only playing with her, her face burst into a scathing shade of red. She sunk into the water, crossing her arms over her chest, letting her hair swirl around her. If her body burned any hotter, she believed the bath water would surely boil.

Her peculiar silence made Odin shift uneasily from one foot to the other as he cleared his throat, saying, “I’m just kidding. You really aren’t that f-flat chested. I mean, you _are_ , b-but-”

He stopped himself short, nearly choking on his words, his own face darkening into a violent blush. The older teenager had expected her to have a snarky comeback. He realized, however, that perhaps she was more sensitive to the topic than she let on.

“Ava, I didn’t m-mean it in a bad way-”

“Odin,” she interjected, propping herself up with one arm over the tub. “There’s something on your face. Come here.” 

The boy stepped closer, to which Ava smiled sweetly, blinking big brown eyes at him.

“It’s an eyelash. Come closer.”

He did, until they were inches apart. In one fell swoop, she grabbed his shirt collar, yanking him down with such unexpected force that he toppled over into the tub. The water sloshed over the side with his falling weight, causing Ava to shriek as he plunged in beside her.

“Wh-What the hell!” Odin sputtered, wiping the water from his face, blinking sporadically. 

He shook the water from his eyes, looking at his now soaked body, then to the laughing girl pressed against him. He repeated, “Wh-What the hell??”

She wheezed through her laughter, “You’re pretty flat chested too.” Pressing a finger against his heart, she let the words sink in, “I guess we’re even now.”

Odin scoffed, relenting into the warm water. After a few moments, he realized the shiver coursing through his body wasn’t from the unexpected home baptism he had just received.

She wasn’t wearing anything.

She wasn’t wearing anything, and here he was almost laying on top of her.

As much as he could stare and admire the bareness of her neck and scarred shoulders, Odin was never one to be bold. Instead, he moved off from her, pressing his back against the opposite side of the tub.

It was safer to look, anyways, than risk getting burned.

They were quiet for a moment. The sound of the bath water settling, returning to a placid state, eased their silence.

“You can take off your clothes.”

He looked up to see Ava’s smile, the pink of her face blending into the water, its murky milk white shielding her as she slid further into its depths. Odin remembered feeling her toes wriggle against his hips, and then she was asking him something.

She was repeating the question, and then he realized he had been staring at her reflection in the water. Her image was bleeding. He felt as if his own heart was bleeding.

He wanted to peel his shirt off. He wanted to take his jeans off. He wanted to join her, for who knew when they would be alone again?

He wasn’t moving. He couldn’t move.

“Odin, is something wrong?”

The water didn’t feel right against his hands. He couldn’t speak. The tub was bleeding. The open window was smiling at him.

The girl in front of him, unclothed and doused in vanilla, hated him, and she hated his guts. He knew this, because she had never said otherwise, so it must be true, it must be true, it must be true-

“Odin?”

“Odin, are you okay?”

“Say something.”

He looked to the window, and its teeth curled devilishly at him. Frozen, he remembered the pot. He remembered his roommate desperately handing it over to him. He did not tell Odin where he got it. Odin did not ask.

What mistakes we make in the night, in the cold, cold night.

“That pot was l-laced.”

“What does that mean?” He could hear her voice, but for some reason he couldn’t see her. The lights in the bathroom flickered, but the lights in his eyes dimmed. “Are you okay?”

“It had s-something else in it.”

Ava was already pushing herself up. He was staring into the water, at his own soaked jeans, entranced by the ripples she created. The girl stood from the tub, and he could hear the water drip from her body as she wrapped a towel around her.

The grandfather clock downstairs chimed an unknowable hour, and suddenly he feared for his life.

“They’re c-coming for me,” he said. Odin sat up, standing out of the tub, eyes wide with panic. “I have to l-l-leave.”

Ava reached for his arm when he walked to the door, speaking, “Stop. Wait.” She let go, then said, “Don’t go anywhere.”

He was watching her dress into his black, tattered shirt, but he couldn’t bear it. If an outsider wasn’t coming for him, then his family was going to kill him. The girl with red hair was going to kill him. The demon that plagued him in the dark would surely find pleasure in ending his life. He didn’t know who’s hand to die by.

“You’re going to k-kill me,” he whispered into his hands. 

“No,” she told him. Ava placed her finger on her mouth, examining him, realizing a thin line of drool was escaping his slackened mouth. He looked drugged, dazed and confused and in a dreamworld that simply wasn’t reality. 

She hoped his eyes would show some light when she said, “I think you should go to sleep. I think you should sleep this off.”

He didn’t say anything. She resisted the urge to wave her hand in front of his face.

“Is that okay?” she asked of him.

The older boy nodded.

“Good.”

She drained the tub, then led him into his room, setting him on the bed. He was gone. Odin Arrow had, for the time being, fell in the bathtub and was still laying in the milky water, laughing and teasing his high school love. His ghost was still there, kissing her, taking off his clothes.

The flesh was here though, being guided by her small hand, her voice telling him what to do calmly. He sat on the bed. That is what she told him to do.

She helped him out of his water-soaked jeans. She was saying what to do, and he didn’t know anything else in this confused state. Take off this shirt. Put this shirt on. Stop trying to flee. No one is coming for you.

His face went pale, then he wearily rested his head against his knees.

He rose, staring blankly ahead, as Ava asked gently, “Can you go to sleep?”

Odin nodded.

But they’re coming for me, he told himself.

They will come from the forests. They will come from the trees. 

But she wouldn’t let that happen, would she?

Ava helped him lay on his side. It seemed too surreal, laying him down to rest in this way. The girl had to remind herself this wasn’t a permanent sleep. She wasn’t laying him to rest forever. Her wet hair dripped on his pillow when he spoke quietly, as if they were being spied upon.

“Ava, there’s s-something I need to t-tell you.”

She leaned in closer, listening intently to the urgency in his shaky voice.

“When I was a kid, my dad c-caught me smoking cigarettes. He m-made me put the cigarettes in a glass of water, and then I had to d-d-drink it.”

Ava didn’t move. He was on the cusp of saying something desperate.

“Ava, I need y-you to never let me f-forget.”

She opened her mouth to ask him why. The house groaned as the vents brought forth heated air, and Odin waited until it had passed until saying once more, his hands unable to let go of her’s.

“I n-need you to remind me, because I can never f-forget.”

He pleaded, “I need to r-remember, so I never do the same to m-my children. Or to Magpie, and Crow and Raven.”

Ava swallowed, nodding once. She reached out, gently brushing his black hair off his forehead. The room was chilled, but he was sweating, despite his skin being cold and clammy to the touch. He closed his eyes, going still once, then unable to control the spasms in his arms and gut.

Odin pressed his face into the pillow, a low whine being forced in the back of his throat.

“I know it’s my f-fault. I can never admit it,” he whispered. 

She looked to the window. She looked to the West, and saw the empty black sky; yet, the pine trees were blacker. They were void. They existed darker than the world around them. They were his trees. They always had been. They would survive this winter, simply because they were made for it.

Her trees would not. They died with the first frost. It sparked a bitterness in her in how similar the pair of them were, how they had been molded to feel the way they did.

Everything was her fault. She wasn’t sure why, but it was.

“Odin, it’s going to be okay,” she told him, bringing the bed covers over his shaking body. “You can sleep this off. Go to sleep.”

She made to stand, but he rushed for her at the elbow before she could slip away. “They’re coming f-for me,” he begged of her.

The girl hoped deep, deep in her red blood that this was the drug’s ill-doing. She hoped he didn’t think like this all the time.

“You will be fine. I promise.” 

She had no where to go, no where to be, so she walked to the other side of the bed, climbing underneath the covers and scooting in beside him.

“Go to sleep.”

Her wet hair soaked into the pillow, but she did not move, not once in that sleepless, long night. She could not see the moon. She could not see the stars.

She was too cold to care anymore, and he was too sick to explain his strange visions.

—————-

By morning he had ceased his shivering.

Ava realized this because when she woke first, she found her arm wrapped around him, her chest pressed closely against his back.

The house smelled bitterly cold, so much so that she blinked against it, making her eyes water. She rubbed them against the back of his shirt, leaving a collection of tear stains on him. She liked the pattern it left on his shirt.

Ava peered behind her, catching a glimpse of the early morning grey. It was still. The treeline was still. Last night it seemed to swim, seemed to sway to and fro and call and beckon. Now, it stayed orderly and rigid, as if last night’s events never happened.

She found herself looking at his neck, and if she stayed still enough, if she held her breath long enough, she could see the pulse beneath his skin. The girl wasn’t sure how long it mesmerized her until he moved, breathing in deeply before turning over on his side to face her.

His eyes opened. They were bloodshot and tired.

“Hi.”

Ava bit at the inside of her cheek.

“Hi. How do you feel?”

He answered, “L-Like hell. The pit of hell.” Mindfully, the boy brushed her hair behind her ear. “Like I was in a v-very bad dream.”

They listened for the birds singing outside. They were few and far between. It wasn’t like this in the summer.

“Your friend gave you some bad pot?” she asked.

Odin inhaled deeply, replying, “Y-Yeah. I didn’t kn-know. I didn’t think it’d ever happen to m-me.”

He lifted his head from the bed.

“You seem t-tired.”

Ava didn’t move. She was hoping her body heat would collect on the bed, and she could bury herself in it.

“I am tired,” she told him. “I had trouble sleeping.” 

She mumbled into her pillow. Talking to Odin was easy. It had always been easy.

“I’m sick of being me.”

He kissed her once on the head, just at her hairline before settling back down on the bed. She wished he wouldn’t stop. Instead, he spoke softly, “Do you w-want to go back to sleep?”

“No,” she blurted out. They both seemed taken aback, but the girl quickly reasserted herself. “Yes. I mean, I do, but I know you’re leaving today. You’re leaving this morning. I’ll have to go too.”

“I wish you’d kiss me before you go,” she added, hoping the sun would show itself to warm this chilly bedroom.

Carefully, Odin pushed back the covers. He dipped his head to her belly, lifting up her shirt and rolling the fabric up so he could kiss the soft round pudge of her stomach. Ava went stock still as she stared at the ceiling. The burn started in her toes, causing her to scrunch them tightly, then up her legs, ending at her belly where the fire licked and rolled and brimmed. She gasped at feeling his lips trail to her navel, to which she gently curled her fingers in his hair. She was burning up when he stopped at the waist line of her underwear.

“I’m nervous,” she said aloud. It was somehow easier to tell the ceiling this instead of his dark knowing eyes.

“Should I s-stop?” he asked. 

The girl took a deep breath, then stated, “No. Keep going.”

She could feel his fingers pull at the hem of her underwear, and his shaking matched hers just as equally, just as jittery as the first time they were assigned as partners in high school, throughout the long, unbearable school days, throughout every singular stress and sorrow they had survived in those days.

It always fell to that one moment, that one extraordinary image saved in her daydreams.

It was nothing grand. It was nothing remotely spectacular. There was the sky, and the wild fields, and that perfect moment when she turned and reached for his hand and pulled him deeper into the meadow. That was it. That was the moment that relived itself over and over, the details knitting themselves more closely together each time she imagined it.

The late summer sun, the twirl of her dress against her legs, the brush of their hands before interlocking.

In his bedroom, they fumbled for each other’s hands, digging their elbows into the mattress at the marks he was leaving on the inside of her thighs. They were a brilliant shade of red. In the grey Autumn morning, he believed it was the most perfect red he’d ever laid eyes on.

Fleeing to the meadow, not out of fear, but freedom. That’s what the fantasy consisted of. That was what she had dreamed of; peace without wishing for the end. She wanted more Autumns, and less grievances.

So on this particular foggy morning, Ava Ire asked him several questions, to which Odin Arrow asked his own questions. They spoke quietly. They tried to contain their nervous laughter, but it couldn’t be helped; not when he left the room to steal one of Olai’s condoms, or when they found the damned wrapper impossible to open. The laughter couldn’t be contained when they undressed each other either, not when her hair was caught entangled in his fingers.

They spoke quietly, and the time taken was passed quietly. He teased her later about the tiny, involuntary moans that passed her lips, and she teased him for the unnecessary, yet somehow completely necessary, creaking and rocking of the bed.

It was nothing extraordinary, but as the hour tip-toed by, they found it to be more endearing, more loving than they could have possibly imagined. There was pain at first, and she told him this, whispering in his ear with two scarred arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

With that, they took their time, going as slow as needed. The house was the same, the sky was the same. No one intruded. No one called. No one interrupted. Ava thought longingly about anyone else who would have done the same as her, and waited to do it on a cloudy day. Perhaps it was more common than other girls her age let on.

She was caught in a waking dream, exhausted and warm, when he said, “You’re taller than the l-last time I saw you.”

Ava opened her eyes, wrinkling her nose, answering peacefully, “No. I’m done growing. I’ve been done growing.”

He smiled, touching his forehead against her’s, reaching up to pull the stray piece of red hair from her mouth free.

“You seem t-taller,” he remarked. “That’s all.”

Underneath the covers, Odin moved his hand to her waist, then stopped at her hip, thumbing the bruise left on her skin.

Ava saw the worry in his eyes, causing her to stretch, sliding forward to rest against him. At the ceiling, at the cobwebs and dust and old wood, she told, “It’s okay. I just wanted to know.”

“Did it h-hurt?”

She drew a wistful breath.

“Mhmm. It did.”

She scooted to face him again. He seemed corpse-like in this light.

“I wanted you to do it.”

As if his voice echoed to this present moment, she repeated the words he had told her Friday.

“I’m glad it was you.”

————

He left her before noon.

They said their good-byes in the truck, just in front of her house, where he promised to write her like always.

There wasn’t much to say, she realized. They were exhausted. Something had been troubling him, and something had been troubling her, and neither of them could find the words to say exactly what it was, nor did they think it was worth discussing.

He stuck his hand out the window, waving his final goodbye.

Once in her bedroom, Ava dropped her bag wearily to the floor before tucking herself in her bed. She had an unwanted view of the oak outside her bedroom window. It taunted her, in its hideous typical manner, but she realized with disgust that it had finally lost all of its leaves during last night’s frost. Bare and twisted, the gnarled branches snaking their way with open arms at the girl, Ava sneered right back, wishing for nothing but lightening to take it away, to finally end its ghastly assault.

Hours later, after dinner, the girl received a phone call. She could barely hear Odin at first, only the static of the phone. Several “hello’s?” were exchanged before finally the line went clear at his words, “Ava, I m-made a m-mistake.”

The words were rushed, one after the other. She asked the standard, “What happened?” but the line went into fuzzy, black and white static. Impatiently she pulled the phone away, glaring at it, until hearing his distant voice speak again, “I, I did s-something wrong.”

Again, she asked him what happened.

“I hit a d-deer.”

She asked him if he was alright. He said yes, but the despair in his voice was hardly lessened.

“-With my tr-truck. A doe. I k-killed her. Ava, this is bad, and p-people are upset.”

It was quiet. She heard him speak to someone she couldn’t see, some unknown stranger far away.

He returned, saying, “After I pulled off the r-road to look at her, I f-found out. She is wh-white. A p-pure white doe. People are c-crowding around the body right now. They’ve never s-seen a white doe here before.”

He breathed a heavy sigh. Ava could imagine him rubbing anxiously at his forehead.

“An albino, or s-s-something. She’s rare. I didn’t m-mean to hit her.”

“Are they mad at you or something? Are they yelling at you?” Ava asked. She leaned against the counter top of her kitchen. The house was empty. She had made dinner alone, again, that night.

“Y-Yes,” Odin answered. “Th-They’re blaming me.” He lowered his voice, “How the hell do I t-tell these people that if I had s-seen her, I would _never_ had hit her.”

“Tell them the truth. Don’t lie Odin.” Ava lifted her shirt, studying the large purple bruise on her hip. She had been looking at it for hours now.

“Okay. I have t-to go. I’ll call you Ava.”

She didn’t remember the end of the conversation. She had told him goodbye, but couldn’t find the heart to tell him the tree outside her bedroom window had lost its leaves for the winter. She pictured the lifeless body of the white doe, a spectacle for all the world to see. 

She stood at the window, watching that old oak, memorizing the bark’s twists and curves. Behind her, she could catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror, revealing the bruise of her bare form. She had grown taller. Her hips were different. He had seen something she hadn’t.

Where are the pines? she asked.

Where are they, and why do they never die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end.


End file.
